Ghostings
by Xris Robbins
Summary: Joe muses over the loss of love. Some slashiness.


This piece was written as a time-filler during an incredibly boring   
computer class. I wasn't aware that I had put so much emotional   
stock into it until the fact was pointed out to me by a close friend.  
  
This is dedicated to my friend Sam, who is in danger of finding   
himself in a similar situation.  
  
Strong thanks and cyber kisses to my friend and beta-reader Alex,   
without whom I would never have the guts to post my stuff for fear   
of embarrassing clerical errors.  
  
Boring and Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Wish I did.   
Such fun we would have. . .  
  
Quick warning: no descriptive stuff, just some angst on the part of   
our favourite bartender.  
  
Characters: DM J M  
Rating: PG-13ish (Slash)  
Archive: Contact me first please  
Sequel/Series: I seriously doubt it  
  
- - -  
Ghostings  
By Christy (Xris) Robbins  
- - -   
  
  
  
He loved me once.   
  
Well, no, I doubt he would call it love. He would say something   
like 'casual infatuation' or 'torrid affair'. I called it love. I would   
have sworn to every god known to man that he loved me and I   
him. It was hard, though. We found few moments together and   
those we did have were laced with the bitter edge of the knowledge   
that people would disapprove. He never seemed to care, though.   
He was soft-spoken and casual, then. I still see much of it in him.   
In many ways he played the grad student for too long and I find   
myself seeing him as young and vulnerable without meaning to. I   
forget who he is, sometimes, and when I do, I remember the man I   
thought I loved. Thought. Whimsical and meaningless thought.   
What good is thought without   
reason or consequence? Consequence... another friend of mine.   
Consequence ruled my life for a while and I learned to live with   
those that came from my actions. Like the consequence that stole   
him away from me.   
  
I was foolish even then. Ten years, twelve... what does it matter?   
The end was that my work called me away and I left him. He didn't   
blame me for it. He was excited. Me, a fieldworker with the track   
record the length of both his graceful arms, had been assigned to   
the one boyscout that could possibly win the game. He had   
supposedly heard of Duncan MacLeod even in research.   
  
The man was the golden boy of our office: every watcher's dream.   
Taking up with Tessa Noel, he had stayed in one place for many   
years - sometimes switching between Paris and Seacouver. Then,   
when the antique shop opened, his old watcher retired on a decent   
pension leaving me, Joe Dawson, to watch over our wonder boy.   
  
He helped me pack. He was excited for me and promised he would   
visit as often as he could. In his eyes was a twinkle and a bounce in   
his step, thinking of when he could make the venture to America   
and be in my company once again.   
  
Ending it broke my heart.   
  
Why did I do it? I wish I could say that it was some sort of self-  
sacrificing reason. He was too young, and I wanted him to have a   
life. I didn't want to drag him down. Something that wouldn't make   
me seem like the bad guy. I couldn't give him a reason like that,   
though. The reason I left him was purely selfish. I had met a   
woman.   
  
Her name was Gracie and she worked at a small curio shop in   
Seacouver. She was a great person. Full of fun and life, she   
brightened my every day. Whereas I thought I loved him, I knew I   
loved her. The phone call to him was a quick "it's not you" and   
then listening to his quiet shock over the phone. When he finally   
muttered something about having to go, I let him.   
Neither of us talked for ten years. In those ten years MacLeod   
found Richie, lost Darius, lost Tessa, found Anne... it was a decade   
of hopes, dreams and shattering falls. In those ten years I lost   
Gracie, lost Horton, and gained Mac's trust and friendship... it was   
a century of pain, loss, and worry. I never called him, though. I   
didn't think I could take the rejection that would have followed my   
phone call. Why would he take me back, after all? I had betrayed   
him, left him for someone else who summarily treated me the same   
way. Who was I to call him up and ask to start over?   
  
Then came Kalas.   
  
I sent MacLeod his way.   
  
There has never been a moment I regretted more.   
  
I see them together now. Smiling, happy. It took them a long time   
to discover each other and even longer to find happiness together.   
They traveled a tough road for a while, and I tried to remain in the   
background. He didn't need me, after all. He was Methos. He was   
immortal. He was MacLeod's.   
  
Do I blame him? No. If anything, I'm glad he found love. He   
needed it and so did Mac. They compliment each other. Mac the   
strong, chivalrous warrior and Methos the introspective, calm   
ancient.   
  
Do I hate myself for leaving him? For breaking his heart? No, I   
think the Old Man would have brushed me off without a second   
thought after I had made it clear that I was no longer interested in   
the pursuit of a relationship. Sometimes, though, I see some regret   
in his eyes. Something that ghosts away from the light as soon as it   
surfaces in his eyes. He's never let me   
see it on purpose, but when I hobble around behind the bar, I sense   
the look on his face once more. I hate the look. It makes me feel   
guilty, like scum. I don't think he ever does it intentionally. It just   
happens.  
  
So what do I do now? I'm old, alone and every day I am confronted   
with the man that I thought I once loved. Did I? Yes, I'll swear it to   
the heavens. Do I? No. I just feel regret. Pain, regret, and loss.   
  
Methos and Mac have just waltzed into the bar once more. They   
hang off each other like there's no foreseeable tomorrow. I envy   
Mac. He has the Old Man, now, and the relationship he and I   
shared is forever out of my reach.   
  
I need a drink.   
  
~Finis  



End file.
